I want to talk and stretch ideas. Join me in geekery. I'm unabashedly smart and glad to be challenged, glad to admit what I don't know, buoyed by all I do know. Islamic Spain, ghazals, names of mushrooms, mitochondria, the things I want to know keep expanding.
I have written a novel, and I'm working on another. Writing makes me feel alive. Music can work the same way. I can play contradance music by ear sometimes. I've camped under white pines with 200 people and played and danced along a lake shore. Sitting on the grass and feeling the music in the soles of your feet, feeling it lift and swing in response to what you play, is joyful.
I can ride a horse and drive a tractor and throw a hay bale. In a flat calm, I can persuade a row boat across a cove. I walk in zig zags and stop to touch and smell and feel and kick up leaves. And I love living where I live, in these hills.
I'm a novelist and a poet and a journalist in the country. I spend my days learning why artists and singers and welders and mycologists love what they love and trying to build community. I'm happy and close to my family and damn lucky.
What am I looking for? Someone who will talk with me and listen with me. Someone who can relax with me. Someone who'll grab hands with me and spin in circles. Someone who will understand why I would rather read or walk or bake or do something tangible than watch television. (I like movies, and I can quote most of Princess Bride back at you.)
I want to hold and be held. My family taught me to share space and make treasure hunts and sing while I wash the dishes and work out fights and stay present with someone crying and ease someone sick and face the hard talks and throw tennis balls for the dog, and I miss it.
I know how it feels to want a friend fearlessly, wholly. I want that feeling back.